The Witch
by CaptainAlexScott
Summary: Just a short story Idea that I came up with while my friend was playing Left 4 Dead 2. I always toyed with this kind of idea, and hope others like it.


I had always been depressed. It seemed to follow me wherever I went. I sought help, I sought council, yet no one could seem to shift it, the feeling of a dark cloud hovering over my head.

A lot changed when the infected came about.

People screamed, ran, many turned into the creatures that were a lot like zombies. And yet, I still felt numb to most of it. I loved to wonder the streets, a pistol in hand, just teasing death with a way to get to me, to take me to join what felt like his undead army.

My depression got worse as time went on, medication became scarce and so eventually my anti-depressants stopped working, making me feel even more dead than those wondering around.

It grew stronger as time went on, and it started to get to months into this apocalypse. Sometimes I thought about just ending it myself, but the idea of turning into one of the infected really made me feel sick to the stomach, especially with the way they would charge at you.

Other survivors got more jumpy as time went on, always on the move, looking for a safe house, where I just sat down in the darkest room I could find to just try and slow the headache that always seemed to pound against my skull.

I hadn't seen anyone for months, and most of the time I just cried to myself, wishing that my emotions would just leave me alone, stop making me feel even worse than I needed to be. The world had already gone to shit, why did it have to make it worse for me?

Staying in the dark too long really had taken it's toll on me. My eyes were now sensitive to the hot sun as I wondered my way outside, looking for any scraps of food that I could eat, or just another place I could go.

I could travel for days, but my whole world was just crushing me, it was hard to breathe half the time as I realised how jumpy I had become, the best I could do was shield my face from the sun, crying as the air burned my eyes.

I would always be on my own, with no friends, survivor friends anyway, I just felt trapped, isolated from what the world used to be like. Survivors tended to stay in packs of two to four, yet here I was, walking the streets alone, waiting for the opportunity where I could meet some more people.

During the months of wondering, I noticed that there were more... Specials wondering around, one of all fours, hopping from building to building, those fascinated me the most. Then there was the giant one armed one, fast when it wanted to be, but not very good at turning. A very fat one usually followed behind, you could hear his stomach sloshing away as he waddled down the road.

A large one moved around as well, at least twice the size of the one armed one, roamed around as well. He resembled that of the Hulk, from the Marvel universe, but he wasn't a giant green destroying machine, he was just violent all time.

There were a few more of these 'Specials' that wondered around the towns, each had their own unique.. Ability. So I just tried to steer clear of them and keep to the beaten paths, limiting any interaction with them or with other infected.

But my anger had slowly begun to harbour, and grow along side my depression. With every passing group of survivors I find, they either try to shoot me, or they just avoid me, and it equally pisses me off because all I want is company.

Yet now, as I walk around a lovely little garden, I still find myself growing angry as I hear oncoming survivors. During the time my clothes had begun to rip, and I just cried, wishing that maybe they would come over, see me and help me. They all came into view and I could see them slightly through the cracks between my fingers as I hid my burning eyes from the sun/

"Oh my god, what is that?"

"I've never seen someone like that before."

"Hey. Miss. Are you okay?"

I could hear them all talking and I realised that one of them was walking ever so closer to me. My heart felt like it skipped a beat and adrenaline began to flood my body, no one had ever come this close before.

A hand touched my shoulder and a flash-light shone through the cracks in my hands, causing me to screech in pain as it burned my already red eyes.

I pulled them away and looked at the woman, staring her down with an undescribable feeling within me joined the ever growing adrenaline.

"O.. Oh shit!" The woman backed away and she looked utterly terrified.

"Run! Run!"

The survivors began to yell and I moved my hands to my sides, my fingers long and my nails like claws, before I shrieked again and charged for the survivor that had shone the light in my face, shoving her to the ground and slashing at her with my weaponised fingers.

This is what my depression had turned me into. A monster. I just wanted company, not to be shot, or hurt by the light of a torch.

I felt bullets tear into me before I was shoved back by another survivor, stumbling before I watched them run away, two of them holding up the woman I had attacked.

"Holy shit!? A fucking witch!?"

I calmed now they had gone and covered my hands again, walking the way I had originally been going and crying once more.

I was a Witch now, joined amongst the ranks of the Specials that littered the streets. Depression had changed me, and this is what I was forced to become.

And I would be proud of it.


End file.
